


Tea and Crumpet

by the_haven_of_fiction



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 10:39:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11102847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_haven_of_fiction/pseuds/the_haven_of_fiction
Summary: OFC and Tom come to a crossroads and must make a decision about their future.





	Tea and Crumpet

“I’m sorry, darling. I’m so dreadfully sorry.”

I sighed and placed the milk on the shelf, shutting the refrigerator door and turning around to look at him.

It was the truth.  I couldn’t deny that.  

I couldn’t deny the sincere regret that was clouding his face and weighing him down like a yoke on a beast of burden.  I couldn’t deny the sincere regret that was filling his voice and pouring from every word.  He was so handsome sitting at the kitchen table, the shade of the sweater I had given him for Christmas making his eyes appear so blue.

“I know I’ve disappointed you yet again and I’m…” a pause in this utterance of misery, one that I wished was new to my ears.  But it wasn’t.  “I’m sorry,” he continued, averting his gaze to the rain soaked window, “I don’t know what else to say.”

I suppose it would have been easier if it was a lie.  It would have been easier to simply end things and walk away.  Cut my losses.  Gather the pieces of my heart and wait for time to mend me.  Picking up the jam and a spoon, I walked to the table and sat down across from him.

“You know what, Tom, I’m tired.  I’m tired of hearing you apologize.”

Those long fingers tightened around the mug of tea that he’d yet to sample.  Another sign that we were here, in this place, once more.

“I’m tired of it,” I repeated, phrasing each word as if it were a steady drumbeat in the distance. “Because I’ve heard it before. And now I know that while you do mean it, it actually doesn’t mean anything.”

“I don’t understand,” he answered after a heartbeat or two, “What do you want from me?  How can I –“

He flinched at the scrape of the chair legs on the floor that was caused by how forcefully I had stood up and his eyes flew up to meet mine, wide with alarm and apprehension.

“What do I want from you?” I cried at a volume that shocked both of us.  “I want you to change!  Your apologies are empty, you do the same thing over and over!  Don’t you see?”

I told myself to calm down, to sit down; but my body wasn’t obeying what my mind was telling it to do. I felt like the storm outside, the wind whipping the trees that were trying to be upright and noble.  Keeping my emotions in check was something I had endeavored to attain in my adult life and especially in this type of relationship. All of that seemed to be escaping me at the moment.

“I’m not a fool,” I stated, feeling myself start to cry and ignoring it.  “I know how that sounds.  I know I can’t expect you to mold yourself into some kind of cookie cut gingerbread man for me.  I’m not asking you to change who you are,” I had to pause for a moment to sort my thoughts as they whirled around in my mind. “I’m asking you to change…what you do. I’m asking you to change how you behave.”

The tears wouldn’t be repressed any longer.  They slid down my cheeks at an alarming rate and I didn’t bother to wipe them away. The sight of them weighed him down even more.  Still, I couldn’t let myself stop.  I had to fight.

“Because you are hurting me,” I choked out barely above a whisper, “and you’re hurting yourself.”

I thought for sure that he would spring from his chair with the intent of gathering me in his arms, as he hated to see me cry and would do almost anything to soothe my distress, whether it was over something trivial or not.

But he was just sitting there, watching me, almost like he’d seen this scene before and knew what the next shot was going to be.  I was looking at the Actor.  And I desperately wanted the Person.  I needed the Person to hear me.

“This is not a movie, Tom. The script isn’t already written. It doesn’t matter what has happened previously, you and I are here and now, and we are in control.”

That thought loosed something in him and the realization of his power to act lit up his face. Learning forward a bit in the chair, he narrowed his eyes at me.

“If you feel that this is not what you want and you –“

“No!” I was horrified by his inference. “Why do you do that?  Why do you give up so easily?  Why do you assume that I want to give up on you, on this, on us?”

His brows knit together in confusion and he shrank back into the chair.  

“Why do you want to run when there is a problem?  I know you aren’t a coward, I know you respect me, I know you don’t play with a woman’s heart.  So what is it?”

For a man who had been talkative since the first moment I met him, he was suddenly at a loss for words. I’d never seen someone with such an expressive face.  It was a kaleidoscope of emotions that changed from second to second. Understanding was beginning to glimmer in it and in me.

“Do you get scared when your ideal of the relationship is tested?  Is it the shattering of that illusion of perfection?”

He blinked a few times and then shut his eyes, bringing a hand up to run his fingertips across his lips. I knew him.  I knew he wasn’t shutting me out.  He was thinking.  And so was I. My brain was in overdrive, I was sifting through what I knew about his life and his personality, building a profile.

“Just because it isn’t perfect in your mind doesn’t mean that it is worthless.  Are we worthless to you?  Am I worthless to you?”

I didn’t ask such a question to accuse him, I asked to make a point.  He gasped and opened his eyes.  The pieces were falling into place.  I could see his past clearly in front of me, a collage of images that led me to the current state of us, of this.

“This is how they all end with you, isn’t it?” I asked without really needing a confirmation of what I already knew was the answer.  “You think the existence of a conflict or a point of disagreement is some kind of predictive indication that the relationship is doomed.”

Bingo.

Yes.

It was written all over him.

“And so instead of being brave and working to resolve the issue, you think the brave thing to do is to let it go.  To let the person go.  Because your vision, your dream of what it was and what it could be, is gone.”

Now he was looking at me like a man who had just crossed a gypsy’s palm with silver and was being told his fortune.  

Compassion was beginning to balance out the pain and frustration that had been spurring me on.

“Crumpet, you’re not worthless.  I…I” he could hardly speak and the sound of his pet name for me in that sad, broken tone was too much.  A couple of steps and I was in his lap, his arms wrapped around me.  He held me so close, a frightened and desperate grip that even in its intensity thrilled me for reasons I didn’t know.  My fingers combed through the curls at his neck and I pressed my wet cheek to his.

“Ssshhh, it’s okay. It’s okay,” I murmured, a little short of breath from the crying and how tightly he was clinging to me.   Not wanting him to be under the impression that I was merely aiming to castigate him like a child, I cupped his face in my hands and dropped kisses on his cheeks, his nose.  “Just feel me.  Feel me. I’m here.”

His hands travelled to rub circles on my back at the invitation.  I had learned very quickly with him that he was quite a touchy, tactile person and I loved that.  I loved it because with him, unlike the men I’d dated over the years, there wasn’t a self-serving end to it; he touched me to express his affection.  A hand on my knee when we were sitting side by side, a hand on my lower back as he opened the door for me.  Sometimes he would lean over and kiss whatever skin was available, my upper arm or knuckles or forehead.  In a way, the contact also calmed him and I was relying on that in this moment.

When I felt him relaxing, I proceeded.  With care. With tact.  With love.

“Please don’t sabotage us. Please stop that pattern.  I know you love me.  I know.”

Fear silenced me for a few seconds.  I took a deep breath.  And another.

“Do you love me enough to fight for me, for us?  Do you love me beyond affection?”

The whispered answer was enough and I shuddered in relief.

“Good.  Because I love you.  I love my big bear.  And I’m not going to let him talk me into a bittersweet end when I know it doesn’t need to be that way.  We are going to start this new year right.”

A low, rumbly hum from him sent shivers through me and his fingers closed loosely around my throat.

“Kiss me, sweet Crumpet?” the hoarse request backgrounded by the rustle of fabric, a shifting in the chair to better accommodate both of us.  A hand on my hip guided me to straddle him.  “Kiss me and teach me how to fight.”

“Your tea is getting cold,” I responded weakly and placed my hands on his shoulders, a pathetic attempt at leveraging away from him, driven by the unexplainable shyness that was coupled with a rapidly increasing hunger for him.  The muscles in his thighs were tense under the softness of my bum.

“Now who’s giving up,” he growled in smug triumph.

 _You can make another pot of tea,_ I informed myself.  

“Teach me how to fight, my little soldier” repeated between kisses, the rough deep tone making me stifle a whimper, “and I’ll teach you how to surrender.”

He pulled back when I couldn’t stop my giggles and a smile curved his lips, the first smile I had seen all day.

“And for a New Year’s Resolution, we need to work on changing those cheesy lines of yours, too,” I mumbled.

But I didn’t mean it.


End file.
